


Imaginings

by hubblegleeflower



Series: Favourite Ficlets [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: False Starts, First Time, M/M, but better, fantasy versus reality, reality is messier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblegleeflower/pseuds/hubblegleeflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows exactly how this should go. He's imagined it so many times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imaginings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Воображаемое (Imaginings)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573500) by [PulpFiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PulpFiction/pseuds/PulpFiction)



When Sherlock has imagined this - and Sherlock has _always_  imagined this - he has always imagined that John would be his teacher. That he could take his inexperience and his insecurity and his apprehension and his terrible, terrible _need,_ and lay them at John’s feet, and John would gather them up and keep them safe. Keep _him_  safe. 

That - if it were ever to happen at all - there would be soft, encouraging whispers ( _let me look at you_ ) and gentle thumbs on his cheekbones, where there might be tears. That if Sherlock got frantic, if he rushed, if he shut off, if he panicked, that John would soothe him, slow him down, come and fetch him where he fled and bring him back. 

That there would be murmurs of _shhh, easy, let me show you_ and _that’s right, gorgeous_  and _I’ve got you, let go, let go._

He has imagined John, though he is small, with an expanded chest and a proud cock, brash and bold and assured, taking up all the space in the room, wrapping his confidence around Sherlock, drawing him along. He imagined that, of the two of them, John would be the one who would  _dare._

That’s how he imagined it. But that is not what happens.

***

John is, for his part, _huddling_  in the bed. He can feel himself doing it, and cannot seem to stop. He has climbed in in the dark, and keeps his eyes down. He can hardly look at Sherlock. He does not know what to do with all this _wanting._ He has never wanted like this before.

(He is not even sure he wants to have sex with Sherlock, wants the awkward fumbling of limbs and hands, the bashing of knees, the fluids and the noises. He’s had that kind of sex before, and he can’t seem to reconcile the awkward struggles with the give of the mattress and the tangle of covers with the sharp, soaring desire he feels for Sherlock.)

He’s done his best with what he knows. He can feel the wrongness of it, but has no idea how  to fix it. 

John is afraid, uncertain. It is John who doesn’t know what to do, who is lost.

There is no part of John that thinks, _come on, Watson, you’ve done this before_ , because he _absolutely hasn’t_.

He has never had sex before with someone who loves him. 

He has never had sex with someone who meant nothing less to him than all of the whole world and the stars and planets and trackless void that surround it.

He has never, never done this before. He has never even imagined it.

He turns wide eyes towards Sherlock. _I’m sorry_ , he doesn’t quite manage to say. _I don’t know what to do._ He is sure his misery would be visible to anyone. To Sherlock, he must be completely transparent.

***

Sherlock sees, and observes. He begins to re-imagine.

“John,” he says gently, and then he _dares._

And then it is all soft encouragement and gentle hands, murmurs of _shhhhh, easy_  and _that’s right_  and _beautiful._

And when John goes tense, goes frantic, when his eyes go wide and devastated, it is Sherlock who is the teacher, who whispers, _let me show you,_ because he has imagined this so many times, this touching that John finds utterly _un_ imaginable, that he is the one who must go and fetch John from where he has fled, and bring him back.

John takes his fear and shame and all the sex he’s had with someone who did not love him, and lays it at Sherlock’s feet, and Sherlock gathers them up and keeps them safe…

…and slides their skins together _\- let me show you -_ and touches and presses and squeezes and strokes _\- that’s right, that’s right -_ and laps and twists and smears and glides _\- I’ve got you, I’ve got you, let go…_

…and John does.

Neither of them could have imagined _this._


End file.
